


A Holiday Affair

by JhanaMay



Series: A Holiday Affair [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas Fluff, M/M, with a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5467505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas has always been Dean’s favorite holiday. This year, he finally has his own house so he’s going to decorate it right. When his snooty, but outrageously good looking, neighbor insults his decorations, Dean pulls out all the stops in a bid to show him what Christmas is really about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Destiel Christmas MiniBang](http://destielchristmasminibang.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. My prompts was Decoration Wars.
> 
> Artwork done by the lovely [Ris](http://fvckingjensen.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/picmonkey_collagewhole_zpsyd0fagrr.jpg.html)  
> 

It’s snowing. It’s only six days after Thanksgiving but Dean has been really worried that there won’t be snow for Christmas, so he’s grateful for the thick white flakes that stick to his eyelashes as he slides out of his brother’s pickup truck onto the sidewalk. He glances from the behemoth evergreen strapped in the bed to the front of his house, hoping that he didn’t overestimate just how much tree would fit through his front door. He’s only been in the house for six months, so he really hopes they can get it inside without tearing up the trim.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t move farther up the block?” Sam asks, climbing out of the other side of the cab. The houses are set close to the road in Dean’s neighborhood, so there is only enough space for one car in the driveway. Although Dean’s mint-condition ’67 Impala is tucked safely into the garage, his best friend’s VW Rabbit prevents them from backing the truck closer to the house.

The best friend in question, a spunky little red-head with a penchant for sci-fantasy flicks, clambers out of the truck, sliding one arm through Dean’s as she stares up at the huge tree. “I cleared a space right in front of the bay window and set up the tree stand, so we should be able to go right into the entryway, turn and make it into the living room without a problem. Shouldn’t take long,” Charlie says.

“Okay. I just don’t want to block your neighbor’s driveway,” Sam says, long legs hoisting him up into the bed of the truck to start unstrapping the tree.

“I doubt he’ll be home anytime soon,” Dean says with a shrug, catching the tie-down Sam throws him. “He’s kind of a weirdo anyway. Dude doesn’t even stop to chat or anything when I’m in the driveway. He’s antisocial or something.”

Not that Dean has gone out of way to talk to him, because he certainly hasn’t. Just because the guy is freaking gorgeous with his big sapphire eyes and messy hair and smoking hot body, it doesn’t mean Dean is attracted. No sir. It certainly doesn’t mean that Dean watches him through his front window when he’s taking out the garbage or coming back from his morning run all sweaty. And it really doesn’t mean that Dean wonders if he’s seeing anyone, or if he even likes guys. Nope, not at all.

“You lift up and pull and I’ll slide it toward you. Charlie can go ahead of us and open the door,” Sam offers.

Charlie smacks her hands together, making the snowflakes dance. “Sounds good to me. Let’s get this thing going, bitches. My nose is frozen.”

It takes several heave-pulls, but the brothers get the tree off the truck and resting on their shoulders. They’re just starting up the driveway when a small gray Toyota pulls up behind the truck, laying on its horn. The sound stops for a moment and then starts again, lasting longer this time. Dean glances back over his shoulder.

“Shit,” he breathes. His creepy, awkward, insanely hot neighbor is sitting in the little car, blowing the horn and gesturing wildly over the steering wheel. Although the truck is only blocking three feet of his driveway, there’s no way he can fit past.

“Maybe we should stop and move the truck, Dean,” Sam says uncertainly, swinging his end of the tree back toward the road.

Dean stands his ground, meaning Sam can’t go anywhere without tugging the tree out of his grip. “Hell no, he can wait a minute.” He holds up a hand to show that they will only be a moment and then turns away. Both the sound of a car door slamming and his brother’s lack of forward motion stop him from moving.

“You’re blocking my driveway,” an angry voice announces. It’s deeper than Dean remembers from the few clipped words he’s managed to force out of the guy over the last few months. Or maybe it was the anger making him sound like he gargles whiskey.

Dean takes a deep breath and turns back toward the man stalking toward him. “Dude, just give us a sec to get the tree in the house and we’ll move it,” he says, offering one of his patented charming smiles.

His neighbor, a C. Novak if the name on his mailbox is correct, huffs irritably. “And I am just supposed to be detained? In deference to this pathetic holiday tradition?”

Dean’s eyes widen comically. “Wait, what? Christmas? You think putting up a Christmas tree is a pathetic holiday tradition? Christmas is awesome, dude! How the hell did I end up living next to the real life Scrooge?”

C. Novak narrows his eyes and marches right up to Dean. He shoves one finger into Dean’s chest, poking repeatedly to accentuate his words. “A pathetic commercialized holiday that is all about acquiring items you don’t need and being forced to make nice with people you detest. A waste of time, money, and energy.”

The heat in those blue eyes should definitely not be a turn-on, but Dean can feel his pants getting tight anyway. Wow, awkward holiday boners for everyone. The gift that keeps on giving. He clenches his jaw and bites out, “You are fucking crazy.”

Suddenly, Charlie appears beside him and lays a gentle hand on the man’s arm. “I’ll move the truck for you. We didn’t mean to inconvenience you,” she says cheerfully. “Did we, Dean?” The look she gives him speaks volumes about what the punishment will be for disagreeing with her. Charlie may be little, but Dean doesn't cross her voluntarily.

Dean rolls his eyes and looks away with a huff. Childish maybe, but he’s not making nice with a crazy person who hates Christmas. He stands staring resolutely at the house while Charlie starts the truck and moves it up the block. He ignores the gray car as it pulls up the driveway beside his and into the garage before the door closes behind it, though it takes all of his willpower not to stick his tongue out at it.

When Charlie jogs up beside him again, Dean lets out a long breath and rolls his eyes. “Let’s get movin’. I still gotta put the village up.”

Although Dean loves decorating a whole lot more than changing oil and replacing spark plugs, decorating doesn’t pay the bills. The days blend into each other until Dean realizes its been more than a week since he brought the tree home and he still hasn’t started putting up his outside decorations. He stacks the boxes in his arms and sets out to remedy that.

 _Why don’t the packages of light hangers come with somewhere to store the hangers once you’ve ripped the package open_ , he wonders as he’s picking up the little plastic hooks off the ground for the third time. No matter what he does, they always manage to tip out if his pocket, leaving a trail like a holiday Hansel and Gretel.

Dean takes one hanger and slides the rest into his pocket before using it to fasten the light string to his siding. He’s been at it for over an hour and he’s only outlined the door and a window. Nine sets of unopened lights are piled on the porch railing.

He reaches for another box of lights just as the door opens on the house next door and his annoying and unfairly attractive neighbor steps out. From what Dean can tell from this distance, he’s wearing pajama pants that are covered in smiley faces under a black hoodie. Weird freaking dude.

Dean watches as his neighbor treks down his driveway to his mailbox. The man sorts through the mail as he walks back up the driveway. As long as he’s distracted there’s no harm in checking him out. He looks a little scragglier today with dark stubble covering his jaw. Normally when he leaves the house for work or wherever he goes, he’s clean shaven. Not that Dean has been looking. Not at all.

Dean is distracted enough by the man’s five o’clock shadow that he doesn’t register that he’s looked up until he’s pinned by his intense glower.  “Don’t you have something better to do with your time?” he asks plainly, as if he’s just making conversation and not insulting Dean’s entire way of life.

“Uh, what?” Dean splutters. _Real smooth, Winchester_ , he tells himself. The man’s voice is even more gravelly than Dean remembers. Four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon and the guy sounds like he hasn’t spoken all day.

“The lights,” he indicates, motioning toward the porch with his stack of envelopes. “What is the point when you’re just going to be out here taking them down in a few weeks?”

Dean frowns. That’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. “Haven’t you ever heard of Christmas spirit?”

“Christmas is an over—”

“Overrated, pathetic, commercialized waste of time,” Dean finishes for him. “Yeah, I remember.”

“So then, what is the point of spending all this time putting up decorations?”

Dean looks up at the lights already strung around the door, then across the yard to the guy’s house. “What’s the point of you spending all that time planting flowers when they just die when it gets cold?”

The man’s eyebrows pull together and he squints slightly as he looks up at Dean. “You saw me planting flowers?”

Though he feels heat creeping up his face, Dean just rolls his eyes. “Dude, you live right next door. It’s not like you’re invisible.”

The man looks uncomfortable now. He looks down at his slippers, where they are slowly soaking up the melting snow under his feet. “Yes, well, I should get back inside,” he murmurs quickly and it’s like he’s not even talking to Dean anymore. He shuffles across the lawn and up the stairs of his porch, disappearing inside before Dean can respond.

 _Weird, dorky guy_ , Dean thinks again, turning around to finish his lights.

He gets another two sets put up before it starts to get dark. Carrying the step ladder down off the porch, he notices a pale rectangle of paper laying in the snow. Balancing the ladder against his side, he bends down to pick it up. It’s innocuous, just a bill from the local garbage company, but it’s the address that catches his attention. _Castiel Novak_ , it reads.

Huh. So the C. stands for Castiel. Weird name for a weird guy. Dean stuffs the envelope in his pocket and finishes carrying the ladder to the garage. Just inside the door, he sees his four-foot-tall plastic Santa Claus and an idea hatches.

Glancing around the edge of the garage door, he ensures that no one is watching. Hefting the Santa onto his hip, he walks stealthily across the lawn and up “C for Castiel” Novak’s front porch steps. He gingerly settles the Santa into the corner by the porch railing before tucking the envelope into the door frame. Fighting back a grin, Dean sprints back across the yard and into the garage, closing the door behind him.

Dean doesn’t think about the Santa Claus the rest of the night. In fact, the jolly old elf doesn’t even cross his mind in the morning. He’s too busy slapping his alarm off and stumbling into the shower to think about his bizarre next door neighbor.

A cup and a half into a three cup pot of coffee, Dean stands at his front window and watches it snow. The ground is already covered, but the fluffy white snowflakes are hanging from branches and bushes now. Dean has a love-hate relationship with snow. He appreciates the peaceful beauty of it and the way the Christmas lights reflect off the ice crystals, but he detests driving in the stuff, especially with a heavy rear-wheel drive car like the Impala.

He takes another sip and studies the pile of boxes next to the door. Despite the time he put in last night, there are still way more decorations left to put up than a single man should have. For his first Christmas in his own house he hadn’t wanted to skimp, but he might have gone a little overboard.

It gets dark almost as soon as he gets home from work these days, but he’s got a full shift to put in at the garage before he can start stringing the lights through the shrubs and trees in front of his house. At this rate, he’s going to be putting up decorations right up until Christmas.

Movement at the edge of his garage catches his eye. Castiel is leaving to go to work Dean assumes, though he has no idea what the man does. He backs out of the garage and halfway down the driveway before the car suddenly stops. Dean watches as he puts it in park and gets out. He stalks up his porch steps and picks up the Santa Claus Dean left there last night.

Dean bites back a laugh as the man hauls the plastic figure down his porch steps and carries it to the edge of the garage, where a large black garbage can sits. He yanks the lid off and stuffs the decoration into the can, propping the lid on the jolly man’s head at a precarious angle.

Castiel stomps back to his car, then stops and scowls up at Dean’s window. He seems surprised to find Dean staring back. In a moment of weakness, Dean raises his coffee mug to his neighbor in salute, not bothering to hide his grin when the other man flips him off in response.

Dean watches him until he pulls away down the street, then pulls on his boots. It only takes him a few minutes to pull the Santa out of the can and tuck him into the corner of his own porch alongside the three-foot evergreen already there. He smiles when he glances back at the house as he pulls out of the driveway, a Christmas mixtape blaring from his stereo.

Working at the garage is barely fun on a good day, but being forced to work late because some entitled asshole couldn’t be bothered to return the estimate calls for his Mercedes is enough to set Dean’s blood boiling. It’s starting to get dark by the time Dean pulls the Impala up his driveway, but there’s just enough pale winter light to finish decorating the shrubs in front of his house. At least he won’t need the ladder for those.

Dean collects the boxes from inside the house and unpacks them on the porch. He starts with the tall arborvitae next to the window then carefully wraps each of the squat boxwoods that spread out in front of the porch. Though he spaces the lights close together, he still finishes the entire length of the house with three boxes to spare.

He steps back and surveys the front of the house. He has several more extension cords in the garage, so he could run the lights out to the maple tree in the front yard. On his way to the garage to grab another cord, Dean takes in the dark, morose house next door. Where his own yard is awash in twinkling color, the glow barely pierces the shadows in front of Castiel’s house.

Scarcely visible in the night, a sedate line of hedges skirts the front of the porch. With narrowed eyes and a smirk, Dean considers a better use for the last three boxes of lights. He plugs the end of his longest extension cord into the outside outlet and snakes it through the snow over to the edge of Castiel’s porch. Working quickly, he winds the lights through the other man’s shrubs, plugging the strands in end to end. By the time he’s done, the front of the house is bathed in soft multi-colored light. Pleased with his work for the night, Dean hums a soft Christmas carol to himself as he cleans up and heads inside for a cup of cider.

It seems like the closer Christmas gets, the quicker the days go by. The worst part of overtime during the winter isn’t just the long, exhausting hours crammed under a car that’s dripping melting snow on him. It’s that Dean doesn’t have time to do any decorating until the weekend. Having the house only half decked-out is driving him crazy.

Around dinner and gift shopping with Sam and his girlfriend, Dean only has a few hours on Saturday to work on the front of the house. Loaded down with a bin full of bows, garland and shiny ornaments, Dean sets to work.

Dean fastens red bows to the front porch railing and drapes evergreen garland between them. Although he loves the way the lights look at night, there’s barely anything to show that the house is decorated during the day. Selecting a few of the iridescent balls, he spaces them randomly along the garland to provide some color.

“Are you going to cover the whole house?” a deep, grumpy voice asks, making him jump.

Dean turns to find Castiel standing on his front walk, head tilted at an angle as he studies Dean’s work.  “If you just put up lights, it doesn’t look like anything during the day,” Dean explains, not sure why he’s bothering to enlighten Ebenezer Scrooge himself.

Dean glances over at Castiel’s house. He can make out the faint splotches of color from the lights that are still woven through the shrubs. He’d come out the next day to find the extension cord wound into tight coils resting against the side of the garage. He kept waiting for the lights strands to join it, but they never did.

“Christmas—“

“Is a useless, expensive, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I know,” Dean cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

Castiel frowns, eyebrows drawing together. “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” he mutters. “I was going to say that Christmas is a confusing holiday. It’s essentially a religious holiday tied to Christianity, but many people celebrate it for secular reasons. You don’t appear to be very religious, so why celebrate at all?” He continues to stare at Dean, squinting slightly until Dean has to look away.

Dean shrugs uncomfortably, ignoring the question of how exactly Castiel came to the conclusion that he isn’t religious. Although he believes in God in a vague way he’s never been one for the bells and whistles that go along with a formal religion, but there really isn’t any way for Castiel to know that. Instead of following that line of thought, Dean fastens another ball to the garland and answers, “Christmas has always been more about family to me than God or religion or whatever. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but every Christmas, dad would pack me and my little brother up in the Impala and haul us back to Lawrence. It was pretty much the only time we got to see everyone, so it was my favorite time of the year. Guess it just stuck.”

From the way Castiel is studying him, Dean begins to wonder if he said something wrong. After a few moments, the other man just nods. Without another word or even a wave in farewell, he crosses the lawn and enters his house.

Dean stares after him for a few minutes. What the hell is it with this guy that Dean finds so infuriating. Whether out of spite or some kind of misguided holiday spirit, Dean gathers up an armful of bows and balls and slips over into Castiel’s yard. It only takes him a few minutes to decorate the small cluster of evergreen trees in the far corner, but Dean considers it time well spent.

Later that evening, he’s making his rounds checking the locks when he glances out the front window. Piled neatly on his front porch are the ornaments and ribbons. Dean doesn’t take it personally.

Bobby, Dean’s boss at the garage, is nice enough to let him cut out early on Wednesday for a dentist appointment. Although Dean hates the dentist, the half day does allow him to get some more decorating done when it isn’t pitch black outside.

Dean rearranges the two-foot tall plastic candy canes along his front walk for the third time, then steps back with a pout. He hadn’t realized when grabbing them out of the bin that some lit up white and some lit up red. With the odd number of each that he has, it’s hard to create a pattern that looks right and uses all of the decorations. Dammit.

He glowers and resists pulling them all out and moving them again. Sam would be laughing his ass off if he could see the way Dean was obsessing over the stupid lights, but it’s important to Dean that it look right. He has invited all of his family and friends over on Christmas Eve for dinner in his new home and he just wants everything to be perfect.

Dean looks at the pattern again and realizes that if he removes two of the red candy canes, the decorations will stretch the length of the walk and be symmetrical. He pulls out the candy canes and lays them in the yard while he repositions the rest.

“Christmas isn’t a good memory for everyone, you know.”

Dean jumps nearly a foot in the air at the sudden gruff voice behind him, and he’ll deny to his dying breath that the noise he made was anything like a squeal. He whips around to glare at the man behind him. “Dude, I’m going to put a fucking bell on you. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Castiel frowns. “My apologies.”

Dean nods his acceptance then takes a moment for his heartrate to settle before he says, “What was that you said about Christmas memories?”

Castiel looks pensive. “You said you have good memories of Christmas, but I was simply pointing out that not everyone’s memories are pleasant. My memories of the holidays consist of my older brothers fighting and an overwhelming air of disapproval from my parents. I stopped attending years ago.”

Dean tries to imagine what it would be like to have the holiday be nothing but fighting and ugliness and it makes him incredibly sad. His childhood might not have been the best after his mom died, but he’s grateful for all of the amazing people he is lucky enough to have in his life. “That sucks, man,” he offers.

Castiel shrugs. “So I don’t really understand all of this,” he continues, making a sweeping motion with his arm.

It’s Dean’s turn to become thoughtful. “It’s like this,” he says slowly, “that’s your past. You can let it keep you from celebrating and being happy, but it doesn’t have to dictate your future. If you want your life to have some Christmas cheer in it, all you have to do is reach out and take it.”

Castiel just stares at him. His eyes are bright, but pained, and Dean starts to feel self-conscious about his sappy words. Finally, he sighs, a long breath that seems to release the tension in his body like a balloon letting out air. “Thank you, Dean,” he says softly, then turns and walks back to his house, leaving Dean to stare after him.

Dean stands there for a long time, until he finally realizes that he can’t feel the tips of his ears. Twilight is falling, bathing the yard in shadows. He turns back to the porch and sees the pile of ornaments and bows. It’s weird that Castiel hasn’t mentioned the decorations. He takes them down or unplugs them, but he’s never asked Dean to stop.

It only takes another second for Dean to make up his mind. He gathers up the decorations and puts them back on the trees in Castiel’s yard. He takes the candy canes and runs the extension cord back over to the hedges in front of the neighboring house. Pushing one into the ground on each end of the house, he plugs them in along with the lights. Finally, he carts the Santa back over, tucking him into the corner of Castiel’s porch.

Dean is tugging on his boots when he hears Castiel leave in the morning. He quickly finishes getting ready for work and practically sprints out the door. When the garage door goes up in front of the big black Impala, the first thing Dean looks for is the Christmas decorations in his neighbor’s yard.

Ornaments, candy canes, and Santa Claus shouldn’t have the power to bring Dean almost to tears, but he feels himself getting choked up anyway. The bulbs and bows are still in place, Santa waves jauntily from Castiel’s porch and the twinkling lights illuminate the front of the house. Dean grins the entire way to the garage.

Although the day is long and messy, Dean is in great spirits when he gets home. He even stopped at the little hardware store next to the garage and bought a couple elves for in front of the house. It’s snowing steadily, but with only five days until Christmas, Dean wants to get the little guys set up.

He’s unboxing the third elf, a plump little guy sitting at a work bench with a toy train in front of him, when Castiel appears beside him. He extends the mug he’s holding toward Dean, but he doesn’t speak.

Dean stands up and brushes the snow off his overalls before reaching for the mug, which turns out to be hot chocolate. He takes a sip, letting the warmth of the liquid heat him up from the inside. “Hey, man, thanks,” he says in appreciation.

Castiel just nods, his eyes on the workshop scene emerging in Dean’s yard. “They’re cute,” he says gruffly.

Dean’s eyes widen fractionally. “Changed your mind about Christmas?” he teases.

The open look in Castiel’s eyes shutters again, and he shakes his head. “No,” he retorts sharply, turning on his heel and marching back to his house.

Dean frowns into the mug of cocoa he still holds. He finishes the drink, one slow swallow at a time, then gathers the boxes for the other three elves and hauls them across the yard. It only takes him a few moments to unbox them and set them up in Castiel’s yard, but the pleasant glow in his chest lasts the rest of the night.

Despite Dean’s often repeated mantra that he doesn’t wake up early for anyone, Dean sets his alarm fifteen minutes early so that he’s sure he’ll catch Castiel leaving for work the next day. Sure enough, he’s standing in the window when Castiel’s car pulls out of the garage.

The car stops when it’s halfway down the driveway and Dean is pretty sure the other man is looking at the new additions to his holiday scene. Slowly, Castiel turns and looks up through the windshield at Dean’s window. It’s hard to tell through the early morning glare on the glass, but Dean is pretty sure he’s smiling.

Since he’s already dressed for work, Dean has plenty of time to put the rest of his plan into motion. He quickly steps out onto his porch and gathers up his short, plump tree. He carts it across the lawn, careful not to lose any baubles or bows, and sets it up next to Castiel’s front door.

Even with his extracurricular activities this morning, Dean makes it to work with five minutes to spare. He whistles his way through most of the morning, and more than once a co-worker asks why he’s in such a good mood. Dean just shrugs with a grin and tells them it’s the holiday spirit.

Although he thought he’d finished the outdoor lights over a week ago, Dean finds a set of icicle lights in a Walmart bag in the dining room. With a sigh, he thinks about just packing them away for next year, but he just can’t make himself do it. He shakes the lights out of the box into his hand and heads out to the garage for the ladder.

He’s fastening the last two feet of the strand to the porch roof when Castiel pulls into his driveway. Dean intentionally doesn’t look up when the car stops before it pulls into the garage and the door opens. It’s torture not to sneak a peek at what Castiel is doing, but he forces himself to focus on the lights in front of him until a gruff voice draws his attention.

“Dean.”

Dean looks up and the expression on Castiel’s face takes him by surprise. The other man looks emotionally wrung out. Dean opens his mouth to apologize, because he never intended to upset him with this silly decoration war.

“Thank you for the tree,” Castiel says before Dean can formulate an apology. Wait. What?

It takes a moment for Dean to get his brain in gear. “Ah, you’re welcome, Cas.”

Castiel continues looking at him for a long time, his eyes searching Dean’s face, but Dean isn’t sure for what. Finally, he ducks back into the car and pulls into his garage. Dean doesn’t know what just happened, but it kind of feels like a victory.

Dean doesn’t see a whole lot of Castiel the rest of the week, just the occasional wave when they pass going to or coming home from work. The days leading up to Christmas are filled with shopping, wrapping presents, and making whatever food he can prepare ahead of time for Christmas eve.

The garage isn’t closed on Christmas eve, so Dean still has to work, though Bobby lets him off at four instead of his usual five-thirty. As soon as he gets home, Dean lines his driveway with luminaries. This is one of his favorite holiday traditions because it’s the only one that he remembers doing with his mom. He doesn’t remember baking cookies or decorating the tree, opening presents or singing carols, but he remembers this. Although he was only four when she died, he remembers helping her unfold the little white bags and fill the bottom of each with a scoop of sand. They would set the bags up along the driveway to their big white farmhouse and then go along and add a tea light to each bag. The glow was so magical that Dean could see it in his mind even years later.

By seven o’clock the house is packed. Cars line the street, careful, of course, not to block Castiel’s driveway. Though he’s been watching for the other man, Dean hasn’t see him come home yet. Dean pours another glass of mulled wine for Jess and carries it out to the living room, kissing her on the cheek as he hands it over. It has become a habit to glance out the front window toward Castiel’s house whenever he passes it and this time is no different.

Now, though, Dean pauses because Castiel is standing in the driveway. Although it’s snowing steadily and the temperature is inching below freezing, Castiel is wearing khaki pants, a thin button-down shirt, and no coat. Between the soft glow of the luminaries and the lights twinkling on the fronts of both of their houses, Dean can see that he looks upset.

Dean excuses himself and pulls two coats out of the hall closest. He shrugs into one, then pulls on his boots and slips out the front door. As he approaches the man standing motionless in the driveway, he can see that there are shiny wet tracks streaking down his face. Dean bites back a gasp and says softly, “Hey, Cas, come on man.” Castiel doesn’t respond or even acknowledge Dean’s words, not even when Dean wraps the coat around his shoulders. “You’re gonna freeze, man. Cas, talk to me,” he pleads gently.

Castiel finally turns to look at Dean, tears flowing steadily though he cries silently, chest barely heaving. The look of naked pain in his eyes is terrible. Dean wants to wrap his arms around the other man, but he isn’t sure how Castiel will react, so he just waits. Eventually, Castiel takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I hate being alone,” he whispers, his voice wrecked. “I tell myself it doesn’t matter that they don’t want me, but it hurts.”

“Your family?”

Castiel nods, a wracking sob moving through him. “My parents, when I told them I had fallen in love with a beautiful young man and wanted to invite him to Christmas, they called me vile names and told me they never wanted to see me again. Christmas eve, eight years ago.” He stops, takes a deep breath and looks directly into Dean’s eyes. “I haven’t spoken to a member of my family in eight years. Eight Christmases alone. I’m tired, Dean. I’m so damn tired of being alone.”

Despite the fact that they’ve only really known each other for less than three weeks, Dean does the only thing he can. He pulls Castiel into a crushing hug. Castiel tenses, but Dean just squeezes tighter. Finally, he snakes his arms around Dean’s back and buries his face against the warm skin of Dean’s neck, his entire body shaking as the sobs overtake him. Dean just holds him as he cries, murmuring meaningless sounds and brushing a gentle hand over the back of his head.

They stand there in the snow until the sobs die away and the shaking of Castiel’s body pressed against him is more from the cold than grief. Finally, the other man pulls away, embarrassment evident on his face, but Dean catches hold of his wrist before he can bolt. “You’re not alone, Cas. Not if you don’t want to be,” he says earnestly.

Castiel’s eyes go wide. He swipes his free hand across his face, wiping the evidence of his breakdown away, though his eyes are still red and puffy. “I don’t want to be alone,” he says shakily.

“Okay, Cas. Okay,” Dean murmurs. “Come on. Let’s go inside. We’re just about to have dinner.”

Castiel stiffens, and for a moment Dean thinks he’s going to refuse. “Wait,” he says. “Just a moment. I’ll be right back.” He pulls away and jogs toward his house, shoving his arms into the sleeves of Dean’s coat as he goes.

He disappears through the front door, but Dean only has to wait a minute until Castiel reappears. He carries a beautiful evergreen wreath. “You don’t have a wreath,” he says when he reaches Dean.

Dean smiles, triggering an answering grin from Castiel. “No, I don’t, but I know the perfect place for it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved this story so much that I just couldn't let that be the end. This idea poked at me until I had to write it. I hope you enjoy it. I can't promise that there will be more in this universe, but you never know. 
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> [](http://s102.photobucket.com/user/kirchnsr/media/IMG_20151226_221548_zpsbfl6rwyr.jpg.html)  
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The door closes for the third time, but Castiel still doesn’t look up from where he sits on the couch, nursing a glass of mulled wine. Dean has spent the last twenty minutes slowly saying goodbye to his family and friends though he will be seeing many of them again in a few hours.

It is all very confusing. The last several hours have been the most pleasant Castiel can remember spending in years, and yet he has been in a room full of strangers. When Dean led him into the house, everyone turned to look at them. Dean just gave a lopsided grin and announced, “Hey, everyone, this is my neighbor, Cas.” Given the odd way he’d come to be invited to the party, he expected Dean’s guests to give him a wide berth or at least be curious. Strangely, though, they treated him as if he had been there all along. He mingled and chatted and not a single person looked at him strangely or asked why he had been crying in Dean’s driveway.

Now that the last guests have departed, Castiel assumes he should excuse himself as well, though he really doesn’t want the evening to end. This party full of strangers has been the best Christmas he’s ever had and it leaves him feeling both happy and strangely melancholy at the same time.

Before he can find the motivation to take his leave, Dean collapses onto the couch beside him with a huff and puts his feet up on the coffee table. “Man, that was awesome, but I am freakin’ beat.”

Castiel stiffens. And so this is the end. Back to his quiet, empty house, away from the warmth and affection he’s found in Dean’s living room. Castiel sighs and swallows the last bit of wine. “I should be going then.”

He just starts to shift his weight to stand up when Dean’s hand on his arm stops him. “You don’t have to go,” he murmurs.

Castiel’s heart stutters as he turns wide eyes on Dean. Surely this gorgeous, vibrant man isn’t saying what Castiel thinks he is. He can’t possibly be interested in . . .

Dean’s face mirrors Castiel’s expression when he realizes how his words sounded. “Aw, geez, no, I mean, I didn’t mean it that way, man. I just meant that you can stay here. You know, if you don’t want to be alone,” Dean’s words trail off as his cheeks flush red in embarrassment.

Of course, an offer of friendship is all Dean was extending. Castiel bites the inside of his cheek to avoid huffing a sigh of disappointment. “My house is right next door, Dean,” he points out.

“I know,” Dean says quickly, still holding on to Castiel’s forearm, “but no one should be alone on Christmas.  I’ve got some sweats you can sleep in if you don’t want to run next door and I’ve got a guest room. It’s not much, just a bed and a nightstand, but you’re welcome to it.”

Castiel thinks about his empty house. This is silly and he really should go home, but some part of him, some small piece that is still basking in the warmth of the evening, won’t let him refuse. Instead, as if he has no control over his body at all, he gives a small nod.

Dean’s face lights up with a huge grin and he tugs on Castiel’s arm to pull him to his feet. Dragging him into the bathroom, Dean rummages through a drawer and comes up with an unopened toothbrush. He leaves Castiel at the sink and returns a few moments later with a black t-shirt and dark gray sweatpants.

As if in a daze, Castiel strips and pulls on the clothes. Though he and Dean are almost the same height, Dean is bit more muscular so the sweats skim his hipbones rather than resting snuggly against his stomach. When he comes out of the bathroom carrying his own neatly folded clothes, Dean has changed into a Star Wars t-shirt and fleece pajama bottoms.

He ushers Castiel into the spare bedroom and pulls back the covers. Castiel wonders if he should feel weird about this, being tucked into bed by a grown man, a veritable stranger, but he only feels comforted. No one has turned back the covers for him since he was a child, before that Christmas, when he still had a family.

Castiel crawls under the blankets and Dean pulls them back up. He flicks off the bedside lamp and walks across the room, pausing just before pulling the door shut. “Good night, Cas,” he says softly. “Merry Christmas.”

Castiel swallows around the lump in his throat and whispers back, “Merry Christmas, Dean. Good night.”

Unsure whether it is the light streaming through the window or the music coming from elsewhere in the house that roused him, Castiel struggles back to consciousness. For a moment, he’s unsure where he is, until Dean’s smooth, deep voice singing _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ filters through the closed bedroom door.

Castiel lays there, snug and warm under the blankets and listens to Dean singing. He’s loathe to get up, because getting up means changing back into his own clothes, leaving Dean’s house, and stepping back into own lonely, unfulfilling life. He feels like a thief for stealing just a few more moments.

The song ends and fades into _I’ll Be Home for Christmas._ Dean doesn’t sing along this time and Castiel can hear the clatter of dishes and utensils coming from the kitchen. Now that he’s fully awake, he also recognizes the aroma of coffee and bacon. He slides out of bed, wincing when his bare feet hit the cold wood floor, so he pulls his socks back on from the pile he’d left on the floor beside the bed.

Castiel follows the delectable smells and holiday carols down the hall to Dean’s small kitchen. Dean is standing in front of the stove, transferring bacon to a paper-towel covered plate with a slotted spoon. He turns to put the plate on the counter and jumps a little when he catches sight of Castiel standing in the doorway.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Castiel says gruffly.

Dean flashes a grin and motions him into the kitchen. “No problem, man, but you gotta learn to stop sneakin’ up on people,” he responds. He picks up a mug from the counter and brandishes it at Cas, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, please, with a shot of milk if you have it.”

Dean pulls a carton of milk out of the fridge and doctors Castiel’s coffee before handing it over. “Sit, sit. Hope you like pancakes.” He transfers bacon from the draining plate and picks up a jar of apricot preserves, which he dots on the pancakes with a small spoon. From where he’s standing, Castiel can’t tell what Dean is doing.

When Dean turns around, Castiel is still standing beside the table. “You didn’t have to make breakfast, Dean. I assume you will need to leave shortly to visit your family.”

Dean frowns. “Well, sure, I didn’t have to, but it’s Christmas, man. It isn’t Christmas without pancakes, so sit down. I assume you’re not some kind of health food nut that has sworn off bacon or something?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Of course not.”

Dean grins and presents Castiel’s plate with a flourish. On the plate, nestled side by side, are two squat pancake snowmen, with buttons and eyes made of dollops of preserves, and scarves made from bacon. Castiel chuckles despite himself.

“My mom used to make these for me,” Dean says with a shy smile. “I don’t remember much about her, but I remember that.”

Castiel studies his face. “She passed away?”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly and Castiel curses his tendency to be too blunt. He doesn’t answer for a few moments, then sighs. “Yeah, when I was four. House fire. Sammy was just a baby. Dad handed him to me and we got out but the stairs collapsed before he could get to mom.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. That must have been horrible.”

Dean shakes himself, as if he can shake off the memories and looks down at his own plate of pancake snowmen. “Yeah, it was. My dad got burned pretty bad, was in the hospital for a few weeks. Things were rocky for a while.”

Castiel slides his hand over Dean’s on the table and squeezes. “We don’t have to talk about this now,” he offers. “It’s Christmas.”

Dean meets his eyes and the haunted look in them fades. “Yep, and you’re about to eat the best damn Christmas breakfast you’ve ever had!”

They dig into the food and Castiel is sure that whether or not it is the best Christmas breakfast ever, it is certainly the best in his recent memory. They talk while they eat and Castiel learns more about Dean in those brief thirty minutes than he ever knew. Dean tells funny stories about his days as a mechanic, while Castiel shares his favorite things about being a book editor. By the time their plates are clear and they are on their third cups of coffee, respectively, Castiel is filled with that now familiar panic at the thought of it ending.

But Dean has a family Christmas dinner to get to and Castiel has, well, Castiel just has Netflix and leftovers waiting for him at home, but he doesn’t begrudge Dean his festivities. He helps wash the dishes and he’s just clearing his throat to thank Dean for his hospitality when Dean blurts, “You could come to Christmas dinner with me.”

Castiel blinks, fairly certain that he hasn’t heard Dean right, but Dean just looks at him expectantly, as if inviting almost-complete strangers to Christmas dinner is common place. Given their relationship so far, Castiel supposes that he shouldn’t assume that anything isn’t commonplace in Dean’s life. After all, who decorates their neighbor’s house after said neighbor has been a pompous ass to them?

“I couldn’t impose,” he begins, but Dean waves him off.

“It’s not imposing if I invite you, Cas.”

“I’m a stranger, Dean,” he tries again.

“You met my family last night, well, ‘cept my dad. He was workin’ last night, but we have lunch at his place. He’s got a big, old farmhouse out in the country north of Lawrence and it’s the only place big enough to hold us all.”

“And your father wouldn’t mind?”

Dean grins, as if he knows that he’s wearing down Castiel’s resolve. “Of course not,” he insists, then adds, “You could run home and get changed and meet me back here at eleven.”

Although he should feel strange about his, the thought of spending the rest of the day with Dean is certainly appealing. He puts way less thought into it than he should before nodding. “Okay, yes. I would love to attend Christmas dinner with you, Dean.”

Dean lets out a small cheer. “And none of those dorky suits you wear all the time. Casual, man, like jeans and a sweater or something.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I wear suits to work, Dean. I do know how to dress casually.”

It takes Castiel far less time to shower, shave, and get dressed than he would have thought. When he appears back at Dean’s front door less than an hour later, the other man gives him a once over and pronounces him suitably dressed for dinner in jeans and a dark red Henley. He tries to swallow his nerves as he follows Dean to the big black car in the driveway and gets into the passenger seat.

They head north out of town and in less than fifteen minutes they’re pulling up the long driveway to a large white farmhouse fully decked out for the holidays. “Your father’s house is beautiful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“After my mom died, he was kind of a wreck for a long time. Shuffled us around to pretty much every state in the Midwest picking up odd jobs and drinkin’ too much,” Dean shares, a faraway look in his eyes. “When I was twelve, we spent a summer in this little town in Colorado. He met a preacher there who convinced him that he should do something with his life to honor my mom’s memory rather than runnin’ from it. We moved back here, he got sober, and became a fire fighter. Bought this house ‘bout ten years ago.”

“Wow, that’s really great, Dean, that he was able to turn his life around.”

Dean smiles gratefully. “Yeah, man, it is. Means a lot to me and Sammy.”  He parks the car along a line of other cars in a large plowed lot, but before Castiel can open the door, Dean clears his throat. “There’s somethin’ else about my dad,” he says seriously.

Castiel raises one eyebrow.

“He, ah, shit. This is embarrassing, but don’t be surprised if he assumes we’re dating.” Dean completely misreads Castiel’s shocked expression and rushes to reassure him. “I’ll set him right, of course, but just in case he says anything. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or offended or whatever. It’s been years since I brought someone to Christmas, so he’ll probably read into it.”

Castiel isn’t so much concerned about Dean’s father’s misconstrual of their relationship, but more astounded that the man would assume that a male friend brought to Christmas dinner would signify a romantic partner. “You’re gay?” he blurts, as his internal filter seems to be perpetually disengaged around Dean.

“Bi, actually. I’m pretty equal opportunity, but yeah, I’ve brought guys home to meet the family before, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Continuing his streak of speaking before thinking, Castiel asks, “And they’re okay with that?”

Dean sighs and shakes his head sadly. “Not everyone in the world are bigots, Cas. I’m sorry your family didn’t support you, but not everyone is like that.”

Castiel flushes with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean—“

“It’s okay, Cas. I know,” Dean cuts in. He pushes his door open and starts to climb out. “We better get inside.”

Castiel wants to bash his head off the window, but instead he gets out of the car and follows Dean up the walk to the front porch. They are greeted at the door by Sam and Jess, who don’t seem surprised to see him, so Castiel assumes Dean let them know he was coming.

It’s good, being in this place with these people. There is laughter and love and friendly bantering that is unlike any Christmas Castiel has ever experienced. Castiel is recruited to help Dean’s aunt Ellen peel potatoes in the kitchen while Dean and Sam bring in armloads of gifts from the cars. Castiel wishes he’d had time to prepare for this because it’s been years since he has given or received a gift that wasn’t part of a Secret Santa exchange at the publishing company.

After putting the potatoes on to boil and helping Ellen check the internal temperature of the turkey, Castiel excuses himself to the living room where the entire family is gathered watching the old black and white version of _Miracle on 34 th Street_.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean calls, face lighting up with a smile that reaches clear to his eyes. He pats the couch next to him. “Didn’t think Ellen was ever gonna let you out.”

Castiel takes a seat next to him, their legs brushing when Dean turns to toss a pillow at his younger brother. “I enjoyed helping her. I used to enjoy cooking, but I don’t do it much these days,” he shares. Mostly because it’s depressing to cook only for himself, but he doesn’t give voice to that thought. “She said to tell you that we would be ready to eat in another half hour.”

Dean winks at Castiel, then pitches his voice toward the side of the room where Jess and Jo are curled up on the loveseat. “Guess the womenfolk better get the table set then,” he calls.

Jo doesn’t look up from the magazine in her lap as she slowly raises her middle finger. “Only womenfolk I see here, Winchester, are you and your brother.” She glances up at Jess. “No offence.”

Jess rolls her eyes. “None taken.”

Bobby pushes himself up from the couch and raps Dean on the back of the head. “Come on, you idjits, the whole lot a’ ya git out here.”

Dean, Sam, Jess and Jo groan and moan, but they all stand and shuffle toward the dining room. When Castiel makes to follow them, Bobby puts on hand on his shoulder and pushes down to keep him in his seat. “Not you, son. You helped out enough. Take a load off.”

Castiel starts to protest, but the man’s expression brooks no argument so he just turns his attention back to the television, doing his best to ignore the fact that he’s been left alone in the room with Dean’s father. His denial only lasts a few moments though, before John clears his throat.

“Didn’t know Dean was seein’ anyone,” the older man shares, pinning Castiel with a calculating stare.

Castiel swallows and hopes that his voice doesn’t shake. In truth, there is no reason that this man should intimidate him, but he finds the elder Winchester’s attention to be uncomfortable nonetheless. “Dean and I are not dating, sir. We’re neighbors, just friends. He invited me because he knew I had nowhere to spend the holiday.”

The man hums in acknowledgement, as if he was expecting that response. He studies Castiel for a few more moments and Castiel refuses to look away, though his scrutiny is almost unbearable. “Gonna let you in on a secret,” he says gruffly, leaning forward as if his words really are clandestine. “I know my boy, and I know that the way he looks at you ain’t how he looks at a friend.”  He leverages himself up from the chair and starts toward the dining room after the others. As he passes the couch, he clamps one hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes. “Up to you to decide what to do with that,” he adds.

Castiel stares after him, unsure what to make of his words. The man may know his son, but surely he’s wrong this time. Dean has never shown any indication that he is interested in anything but friendship. Until today, he didn’t even know that Dean likes guys. Hell, up until a few days ago, he was pretty sure that Dean hated him. No, John Winchester may know his son, but this time he has completely misread the situation. There is no way that someone as vibrant and good-looking and amazing as Dean would be interested in someone as dull and plain and socially awkward as Castiel, no matter how much he might wish otherwise.

Ellen interrupts his brooding by calling everyone to the table for lunch. The food is excellent, as expected, and the conversation flows fast and lively throughout the meal. Dean, of course, is the first to announce the time for dessert and manages to eat half of an apple pie by himself, much to Castiel’s amazement.

After helping Ellen clear the table, they all move to the living room for gift opening. The raucous laughter and general chaos are enough that it isn’t awkward for Castiel to be present even though he isn’t participating in the exchange. A war fought with balled-up wrapping paper breaks out when Dean hits Jo in the side of the head with a missile, and it takes both John and Bobby yelling to put an end to it. Castiel’s face hurts from how much he has smiled, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t laughed as much in a month as does watching the antics. He even manages to get a couple shots in himself, though he feels ridiculous, and Dean high-fives him when he targets the back of Sam’s head.

Castiel excuses himself to the restroom after helping clean up the wrapping paper shrapnel. He’s surprised to see that it’s getting dark, signifying that they’ve been at John’s house for over five hours. He can’t remember the last time five hours passed so quickly or with so much pleasure.

When he returns from the bathroom, he stops in the doorway because Jo has coaxed Dean into taking a seat next to her at the piano. Dean plays, not perfectly, but with emotion while Jo sings. It is amazingly sweet.

“Be careful with him.”

Castiel turns to see Sam standing beside him. “Excuse me?”

Sam raises his chin to indicate Dean, who has just started the opening notes of _O Holy Night_. “He puts on this tough guy act because he wants people to think nothing bothers him, but he’s really emotional. He’ll never admit it, though, so just be careful with his heart. He won’t tell you if you’re breaking it.”

Castiel is dumbfounded. He tries a few times to find a response and finally settles on, “Dean and I are just friends.”

Sam just looks at him, eyes soft with compassion. “Okay,” he responds with a small nod, but Castiel can’t shake the feeling that it’s not what he means. Sam joins Jess on the couch while Dean and Jo continue to entertain the family. After running through all the Christmas songs Dean knows, they move on to classic rock songs and Jo encourages everyone to sing along.

Castiel joins in and acts like nothing is wrong, but he can’t make his mind stop replaying the things that have been said about him and Dean. It’s been almost two years since Castiel has had anything remotely resembling a relationship and his track record was never that good to begin with. What are they seeing that he isn’t?

The evening passes with music and laughter, leftovers, and more pie, until Dean wanders over to where Castiel is sitting with Jess and Ellen and puts one hand on his shoulder. “You about ready to call it a night?”

They make their farewells and Castiel promises not to be a stranger, though he doesn’t know if he can actually keep that promise. He follows Dean back out to the car and the ride back into the city is quiet, the radio playing soft classic rock that does nothing to drown out Castiel’s thoughts. When they pull into Dean’s garage, Dean puts the door down behind the car so Castiel has to follow him through the interior door into the house.

“You wanna drink or anything?” Dean asks, shrugging out of his coat.

Castiel stops in mid-step as he’d been headed toward the front door. He turns to face Dean, who is looking at him expectantly. “I don’t know how to do this,” he blurts, followed quickly by the desire to be swallowed up by Dean’s hardwood floors.

Dean’s eyes go wide for a split second and it’s enough to show that he knows exactly what Castiel means, but he covers it with a quick laugh and a smirk. “Drink beer? It’s not that hard.”

For a moment, Castiel thinks about taking the out and allowing Dean to pass it off as a joke. It would be easy and nothing would have to change. That’s the thought, though, that convinces him. Nothing will change. He’ll go back to his listless, boring, tedious life in his empty, lonely, dreary house and nothing will ever change. He’ll get up, go to the work, come home, and eat a microwave instant dinner by himself and nothing will ever change. Castiel feels like he will crumple under the weight of that unrelenting future.

“I don’t know how to be with people,” he breathes, as if the words have power beyond what they say.

Dean’s lips quirk up in a small smile. “I think you’ve done a pretty good job of it today.”

“I don’t have friends, Dean. I have colleagues at work. I haven’t dated anyone in almost two years and even before that never for more than a month or two at a time. I’m not good at it.”

Dean shrugs. “No one is asking you to be good at it,” he offers with a small hand movement. He steps closer, into Castiel’s space. “You don’t have to be an expert; you just have to want to try.”

Castiel swallows around the lump in his throat. “I want to try,” he forces out.

Dean smiles again. “Okay. Do you want to stay tonight? I don’t feel like being alone and if you don’t feel like being alone, I figure we could not be alone together.”

Not trusting his voice, Castiel nods, just a small movement that feels so much bigger. In a repeat of the night before, Dean leads him to the bathroom. The extra toothbrush is still on the counter and Dean brings him another pair of sweatpants, this time with a _Molly Hatchet_ t-shirt. Unlike last night, though, Dean doesn’t lead him to the spare room. Dean’s hand warm in his, Castiel follows him into his bedroom. Dean pulls back the covers and slides into the bed before patting the mattress next to him.

Castiel takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and lies down next to him. He lies on his side facing away from Dean because he isn’t sure that his fragile mental state can take looking at the other man. Dean turns off the lamp and they lie silently in the darkness for a few minutes, until Dean gradually moves closer, fitting his body to Castiel’s back until they’re pressed together.

It only takes a few moments for their breaths to sync together, warmth and gratitude and something more that Castiel doesn’t dare put a name to building in his chest. Just when Castiel is sure that Dean is asleep, a soft, gruff voice murmurs, “I want you to know, this isn’t a one-night stand.”

Castiel furrows his brow. He thinks about turning to look at Dean, but he doesn’t want to disturb the way their bodies have slotted together. “We aren’t having sex tonight, Dean,” he whispers instead.

He feels the curve of Dean’s smile against his back. “I know, but we’re cuddling right? I just wanted you to know that I don’t do casual cuddling.”

Biting back a laugh, Castiel nods. “Okay.”

“Okay, good. Because, you know, I’d definitely be interested in doing this again. If you want.” His breath is warm on the back of Castiel’s neck.

Castiel smiles in the dark. “I’d like that, Dean.”


End file.
